


It's always darkest before the dawn

by teeglow



Series: Constance and Aramis, heart to heart [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Late Night Conversations, Tag to S2E10, Trial and punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 20:03:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10974390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teeglow/pseuds/teeglow
Summary: Tag to s2e10 'Trial and Punishment' - Short scenes from a shared prison cell. Aramis and Constance spend the night fearing the worst. Words don't come easily, but they try to comfort one another, though Aramis doesn't feel that he deserves it this time.





	It's always darkest before the dawn

It’s been hours since they dragged him in here, throwing him into Lemay’s old cell, some guards cursing at him, some spitting, all of them laughing. It’s cold and damp but they left him his coat. It’s no small comfort.

D’Artagnan’s shouts still seem to echo off the stone walls, filling the silence, even though he must be long gone by now. Aramis can’t imagine the Red Guard would let him hang around. And he’ll be keen to do something. No doubt he’s with Athos and Treville, devising a plan to get them out of here. 

To get Constance out of here.

Aramis thinks he might not be so lucky.

Guilt chills him more than the cold, as he glances over to where Constance sits, kneeling under the window where she saw D’Artagnan. She looks weary and Aramis knows this is an understatement. The low light is forgiving and does not do justice to the bags under Constance’s eyes. He suspects she hasn’t slept from the way her hands tremble and her head hangs heavy. 

‘I’m so sorry, Constance,’ he breathes, looking to the heavens and closing his eyes. He pulls at his chains, more out of habit now really. He’d spent the first hour raging, the second trying to think logically, the third trying to tamp down the panic. But the chains haven’t budged since the last time he tried and his strength is nothing but a token now. 

He worries about Constance.

Constance doesn’t say anything, just glances at him and back down to the floor. If anything could make Aramis want to cry, it’s her silence because she’s never been so silent before. He itches with a restlessness. A need to do something. 

It’s guilt, prickling at his skin, he knows it well. He feels sick to his stomach and knows it’s not the hunger. Doctor Lemay is dead; Constance is sentenced to follow. Anne - the Queen - and his son - the Dauphin - he knows not how they fare, and he can’t protect either of them from here. Who knows what state Louis’ mind is in but it is not his own whilst Rochefort breathes and that is the only thing Aramis can be sure of. 

That and the fact that D’Artagnan will never forgive him if anything happens to Constance. 

He’ll never forgive himself.

He tugs at his chains again and reassures himself that D’Artagnan won’t let anything happen to her, not whilst he’s free and drawing breath. They’ll come for her at dawn and she’ll be safe. 

But then he’s sat in Lemay’s vacant cell and Constance can’t sleep. He lowers his head and prays.

‘It’s not your fault.’ Constance’s quiet, devastated voice travels across the dirt separating them and almost startles him. His head shoots up and he looks at her, his lips turned down at the edges. Her chin is still tucked away to her chest, her chained hands clasped to her knees. Aramis is glad she can’t see the way his mouth opens and closes so she can’t see the way his voice is failing him now he tries to talk. Silence passes between them and all Aramis wants to say is beyond him. 

‘Rochefort’s a madman,’ Constance says after a while, somehow knowing that Aramis doesn’t believe her words prior. ‘He tried to rape the Queen and if it wasn’t you, it’d be someone else.’ She finally looks up. ‘We’re just a convenience.’

A ghost of a sad smile appears on her pale face but the situation is so dire that smiles cannot be any more corporeal than that. Aramis longs to reach out to her and take her hand, but if it wasn’t for the chains, he’d still be stuck in a cell. 

Still, his chains rattle with the movement.

Aramis clears his throat quietly. ‘I fear you do me too much credit. You should never have been put in this position.’

‘Perhaps not,’ she replies candidly. ‘But I know what it’s like to love the Queen too. Do you really think I’d abandon her now?’ She searches out his gaze for the first time in hours. ‘It’s not your fault, Aramis. Believe me.’

Love is love and above all things, Constance thinks she can understand that

It’s his turn to look away now, because she’s wrong and far too kind. Rochefort is a madman and there is no doubt in his mind that he’d have found a way to hurt the Queen regardless but Aramis can’t deny his hubris. The looks he’d shared with Anne at court, during hunts and court dances - he’d been foolish to believe he could love the Queen. He’d been foolish to believe so firmly in his right to do so. Athos had been right and Aramis should have listened; the Dauphin was not his and never would be. Aramis had been selfish to continue.

Marguerite appears in his mind’s eye and sickness crawls in his stomach. He covers his face with his hands. The way he’d treated her was unforgivable; he hadn’t even noticed the trouble she was in. All too quick to pull out of her arms when she tried to warn him, all quick to blame her when she put the Queen in danger, but it wasn’t her actions that did so. It was his.

‘I’m a fool,’ he murmurs. ‘I’ve doomed us all.’

Constance doesn’t reply but Aramis hears a slight hitch in her breathing. ‘Aramis…’

‘Constance-’ He sits up straight, he knows that tone. ‘Don’t-’

‘If...If something happens tomorrow, if they don’t get here on time-’

‘They will-’

‘If they don’t,’ she says tightly before pausing, looking at Aramis as if she is giving him the most important task in the world, which frankly, right now, it is. ‘...Will you tell him? D’Artagnan. Will you make sure he knows? That I- that I love him?’ Her voice cracks.

‘Constance-’

‘And that I’m not sorry. For any of it. I’d do it all again and-’ Her tears are falling fast now and they are beginning to sound in her voice. ‘Don’t let him know I cried.’ 

She looks up at the sky and exhales deeply, trying to regain her composure. Aramis’ heart hurts and he wants to change everything and say something and he realises even now how selfish he is in his apologies. Her forgiveness is not for him to ask for. And, he thinks, she’s scared. 

‘They are going to come for you,’ he says firmly. ‘Don’t doubt it for a second.’

Constance’s eyes are shining but her voice is resolute. ‘I need you to promise me Aramis.’

He swallows. ‘I promise.’

They will come for her. Even if they don’t come for him, they’ll come for her. Aramis won’t let himself think otherwise. There is no way Constance goes to the block tomorrow. A slow, treacherous tear winds down his face at the thought and he breathes out. They will come for her.

\-------------------------------------------

If there is one thing Aramis has always excelled at, beyond marksmanship, it is his ability to make others laugh, even when the situation is dire. 

The only exception was in the months immediately after Savoy. And now.

Levity is not his to give now. It seems hollow given the position they are in. He doesn’t think Constance wants to hear jokes and if she did, he wouldn’t have any to say. 

But he doesn’t think they can pass the night like this either.

Constance keeps falling asleep, her head drooping to her chest before snapping up minutes later accompanied by a gasp. Aramis knows sleep like this too well. It’s the sleep of too many soldiers, haunted by what they’ve seen and it’s not sleep that leaves you rested. 

In her waking moments, they are silent, for neither can think of what to say now. Occasionally, Constance’s breath hitches, Aramis thinks from the need to cry, though she doesn’t allow herself to now. Perhaps she’s spent. Aramis knows he wants to sob, but if Constance won’t neither will he.

He remains steadfast in his belief that Constance will be okay. He prays for her, prays for them all, but mostly her. And Anne. And his son. But every gasp that wakes Constance shakes his resolve and his prayers become faster. He starts to whisper them, breathe them aloud, in French, in Latin, in Spanish. 

‘Aramis-’

Prayers pour out of him like blood from a wound and it’s not a comfort.

‘Aramis-’

But prayers are all he has, the powerlessness is making him shiver and he wishes he could reach his rosary to give his hands anything to do but tug on his chains.

‘Aramis, stop.’

His words cease but his chest heaves. His hands move up to rub the back of his neck but the chains leave no room to manoeuvre. He breathes out slowly.

‘It’s okay,’ Constance’s tired voice soothes.

‘I’m sorr-’

‘Please don’t apologise again, just-’ she exhales herself. ‘They’ll be coming for you tomorrow too. I don’t think they’ll be happy if God saves you before they get here.’

‘Constance-’

‘Shut up, Aramis,’ she says. ‘They’re coming for me, they’re coming for you.’ He meets her gaze and only now he realises she’s moved closer to the bars between them. How long he must have been in this state, he wonders. He tries to reach out a hand to her.

She tries too and smiles a small, sad, tired smile. ‘I’m glad, you know.’

He raises his eyebrows as his shoulders bang against the bars. ‘Glad?’

‘That you love her as you say you do. She deserves that.’

Aramis sighs and closes his eyes. ‘I wish-’

‘Don’t you dare wish it away.’

‘I wish things were different.’ He opens his eyes. ‘And I am sorry, Constance, truly. I never meant for this to happen.’

‘I know.’ Her voice is quiet still but kind. ‘And it’s okay.’

He looks at her and his face looks unbearably young. Aramis has always been quick to smiles and though she feels so far from smiling now herself, she knows she has to, simply because he can’t and he needs her to. She smiles with more confidence than she feels. 

‘They’ll come for us. You’ll see.’

Aramis nods tiredly because she’s right and because he doesn’t have the heart to contradict her. And he doesn’t have the heart for a goodbye.

He knows they’ll come. But they won’t come for him. Truthfully, he’s okay with that

\-------------------------------------------

Dawn comes slowly, but once it arrives, time seems to speed up. Sunlight filters through the tiny grate, where D’Artagnan stood only hours ago, but no warmth comes with it and the hairs stand up on Aramis’ arm. Constance clasps her hands together to keep them from shaking. They can hear the executioner sharpening his sword.

Guards burst in, talking and laughing amongst themselves before falling silent in the space between the two cells. Aramis and Constance are both on their feet now, struggling upright with their hands bound before them and Aramis can see the way Constance’s knees tremble for a second before she locks them. They unlock her cell and she raises her chin defiantly. Aramis loves her for it but when they drag her out, the errant thought that this is the last time he’ll ever see her almost overwhelms him. 

He moves close to the bars, and puts out his hands as far as he can, which isn’t far at all, but she notices and her hands brush against his for a moment. Their eyes meet for just a second, understanding and a flicker of hope passing between them, before two guards push her forwards. Two more bang on the bars of Aramis’ cell, missing his fingers by millimetres, and spitting at him again for good measure. 

The prison empties again and Aramis is alone. He growls and pulls on his chains again, banging his side into the wall, not content to do nothing but forced to nonetheless. He hears a horse bray and shuffling footsteps on the gravel outside. He turns to the grate, where the dawn sun shines through and offers a brief prayer once more. He opens his eyes and it doesn’t matter that he can’t see what’s happening; if Constance is going to die, he’s going to bear witness to it. She won’t be alone.

Gunshots ring out, of course they do. They’ve come for her just like Aramis said they would. Just like he never doubted for a second. He wishes he could see what was happening, just hearing the scuffles and shouts is unbearable but he can hear horses galloping away and suddenly all that’s left is Rochefort’s fury.

Constance is safe. They came for her. Aramis breathes a sigh of relief and prays that God might be as kind to him, though he fears, this time, He won’t find his son so deserving.

But still. He prays.


End file.
